I grew up in an ethnically mixed neighborhood (laboring whites, African-Americans, Mexican-Americans) in Texas, and I've travelled the 48 contiguous states, Mexico, and Central America. I've crossed "borders" my entire life, without incident.
FWIW: My complexion is white, but my heart and soul are . . . um, what? . . . . madras?
I've found folks everywhere to be generally respectful, as long as they feel genuinely respected: a recognition for the commonalities and a respect for, and true interest, in the different (and of what can be learned).
I recollect a visit to Wallace's Catfish Kitchen on the West Side (Madison/California) in, oh, I think 1998, upon a tip from a friend. I took an interested out-of-town white female there around dusk. A lot of the area was still pretty much burned down from the 1960s riots.
Lots of loiterers/dealers/hookers on the block. Bullet-proof glass behind the counter. Lots of raised eyebrows and broken conversations when we entered. Things lightened when I started to ask about the preparation of the ribs, catfish and okra, the source for the hot links, and for a taste of the sauce. When we left with our haul, an entering young man with the appearance and constitution of a junkie kindly held the door open for my partner.
This pretty much up typifies all of my experiences in the "other" neighborhoods.
A couple of days later, two African-American male colleagues expressed doubt about my sanity upon hearing of my story. "Sh*t," both, essentially, exclaimed, "I'd never go into that neighborhood."
All I could muster was this: "Er . . . you're missing out on some damned fine catfish and links."
Respect others, I guess, is the lesson, and they'll respect you.
Cheers,
Wade
P.S. I WAS shot once during an ATM cash-jacking, but this was in a "safe" downtown neighborhood in the S.F. Bay Area.
Disclaimer: I tend to the physique and sartorial style of Anthony Bourdain, which could possibly skew the results.
"Remember the Alamo? I do, with the very last swallow."